- Oklahoma City is home to the most out-of-shape people in the country. The alleged reason for this is lack of sidewalks and public parks. I blame it on all the huge honkin’ slabs of cow meat Oklahoma is known for. This state has also been named "fast-food capitol of the U.S." Coincidence? I think not. You connect the dots. I just hope we get more sidewalks out of the whole deal.
- Oil is hitting Alabama shores. It was sickening enough when it hit Louisianna. But I am absolutely beyond depressed when I think of my beautiful Florida beaches–that emerald water and that sugar-white sand–getting all mucked up with crud. How long will it take to clean this crap up? How long after that before the environment recovers from this? What’s going to happen to all the people who fish for a living? What’s going to happen to the dolphins and the pelicans and the sea turtles that I’ve never actually seen but people say they’re there? Where’s a girl going to be able to find some good seafood? Will you walk out on the boardwalk or the pier and smell oil? Who’ll want to go out to Capt’n Fun’s and Peg Leg Pete’s? Will all Pensacola’s tourist dollars be shifted to beach towns on the east coast somewhere? And what about all those Louisianna people? Is the oil all up in the swamps? Will it kill all the alligators and the nutria–also an animal I’ve never actually seen but people say they’re there? Ugh! Curse you, BP!
- Cancer deaths will double by the year 2030. What the hell.
We’re in the process of repainting our house–the inside. Mainly because of the dogs–oh, sure, we’ve got a few crayola masterpieces and one fantastic turquoise nail-polish explosion dotting our walls, but the real stains spoiling our pristine ecru come from the dogs, and the dirt they take with them everywhere. Our grody dogs. They lay against the walls, they rub against the walls as they walk down the hallway, they rub their butts on the walls whenever the mood strikes them. If you come in our house you will surely notice these giant black marks about 2 feet up from the baseboards, in the hallways and in certain spots in each room. When we moved in 5 years ago, the dogs were allowed freakin. Everywhere. On the couch, on the beds, under the beds (where, I might add, the vacuum won’t reach), in the kids’ rooms, in the bathrooms–you name it, they did it. No thing and no place was off limits to them. Toni has since wised up and cracked down. My dogs call me Hitler behind my back. They shake and pee with fear when they hear my car in the driveway. Little do they know I’m about to take my job as dog-nazi one step further: As soon as we finish painting these walls and installing new carpet (oh, yeah: if you think the walls are bad…), I’m getting baby gates and I’m going ape on the whole house. Their dirty butts will be confined to tiled areas only! No more of this: